Z's dogs - Simon again

One thing that's always been a plus is that every dog we've ever had has been completely trustworthy around children - all people, in fact, but they all loved children and were very good with them.  When we lived at the Old Rectory we were very close to the sea and, although dogs weren't allowed on the beach in the summer season, Simon loved a run on the beach during the rest of the year.  I remember him running ahead, dashing down the path - it was a broad slope suitable for maintenance vehicles that we usually used, although there were steeper steps down from the cliff too - and running along by the water's edge.  There were often fishermen and you had to keep an eye on him so that he didn't annoy them by running into their line, rummaging in their bait-box  - or worse, finding a stray hook with some bait on it.

It was lovely to have a dog again, I'd really missed it.  Having always had dogs sleeping on my bed before I got married, however, I wasn't going to have that happen again, I put my husband first!  Simon had a bed (a dog bed, darlings, not a full-size one) downstairs.

He was always very good when we were out, didn't misbehave ... that we knew of.  However, one day I got up late for some reason, maybe I wasn't well, and the rest of the family went off out in the car.  I heard a howling sound and got up and peered round the stairs.  There was a half-landing with a big window into the porch five stairs up and Simon was sitting on it, looking out of the window and singing.  Yowling.  "Ahem," I said and he jumped and looked extremely embarrassed.

He was very pleased when Ro was born, enjoying having a baby in the house.  He must have been at least ten years old by then, maybe twelve and we moved to this house two years later and so there were no problems with him wanting to run off across the fields chasing rabbits, old boy that he was.  I don't think he lived more than about another year here though, as he developed prostate problems and eventually we had to call the vet in.  The Sage and I both cried when he died, and I remember apologising to the vet for bothering him, oddly enough.

The Sage didn't want another dog.  He said that it was so painful when you lost him.  I pointed out the benefits of the ten or fifteen years in between, that it was no argument against having a pet that one day it would die.  You could say that about any relationship.  But it took four years for him to give in and agree.  Well, three and a half.  And then I put the word about that I was looking for a puppy and waited for Fate to call at my door.  As it were.